


The Wrong Side of Heaven, and the Righteous Side of Hell

by Lets_Summon_Sebastian



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 07:56:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7306363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lets_Summon_Sebastian/pseuds/Lets_Summon_Sebastian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John was a homeless army veteran. (Inspired by Wrong Side of Heaven by Five Finger Death Punch) (driver warning for suicide and suicidal thoughts.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wrong Side of Heaven, and the Righteous Side of Hell

John stared blankly at the London traffic in front of him. Everyone going by so fast, to fast to even notice the tired veteran on the pavement. 

John dropped his head into his hands. As he closed his eyes he could see it all over again. Afghanistan. The yells and shouts of the battle field. The sounds of guns firing. And the death. The bloody painful death. 

He himself had been an army doctor. But of coarse he had seen battle. More than his fair share. But what John just couldn't understand was how he had risked his life for all the people who walked by and stared down at him with terrible disgust. He had made sacrifices for people who through him out to the curb and treated him like trash in the gutter. There was so mush he didn't understand. 

Every time John closed his eyes he could see the battlefield. And he was done. Done with his PTSD. Done with this life of his that people had so kindly showed him was worthless. John was done. 

He picked up his backpack and walked down the street to find some dark, deserted alley way to do the deed in. As soon as he spotted one he slipped in. 

John took a deep sigh and slid his hands along his face. He could feel the uneven scruff and knew he was dirty. 

He opened his bag to pull of the bottle of pills and cheap vodka. He'd admit, he'd wanted to die an honorable death, but if this was the only way out, so be it. 

"I'm on then wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell." John thought bitterly. 

He closed his eyes and finally let a tear slip out. So many sacrifices he had made thrown away. 

John let another tear slip out from his eyes and he held his head in his hands. He was so busy crying he didn't even hear the footsteps as the man approached. 

"Are you alright?" A deep baritone voice asked. 

He jumped and looked up and his breath caught in his throat. In front of him was a man in a long wool coat. The curly fringe of his bangs hung in front of his eyes which were full of concern for the army veteran. 

The mans hand reached out to clasp his shoulder. John tensed at the contact. 

"You were in the army. Afghanistan or Iraq?" 

Johns eyes widened at the mans deduction. 

"Af- Afghanistan." He stuttered. 

"My name's Sherlock. What's yours?"

"J- John." 

"Come back to my flat with me John. There is a spare room my land lady will let you use." 

On a normal day John would have argued against such an act of charity. But today was no normal day. This was the first person. Who had stopped to talk to him out of free will in almost 18 months. 

All John could do was nod. Sherlock wrapped an arm around his back to help support John as he wrapped his arm around Sherlock in return. 

Finally they came to a door which Sherlock knocked upon. An older lady opened the door and gasped at seeing them. 

John braved himself for the rejection he was so used to.  

"In in! Now! The both of you. Oh my dear come here. Let's get you a nice cup of tea." 

John blinked a few time before realising she was talking to him. 

He looked around as she ushered Sherlock and him inside. It was a modest building. 

Next things knew he had be walked upstairs and was now seated in a rather comfy chair. But then again, after sitting g on the streets for a year and a half does make any chair you sit in comfy. The nice lady came back upstairs with Sherlock at her heels. On the tray was a cup of tea and a sandwich. 

"Here you are dear, and the name's Mrs. Hudson if you need anything." She said before exiting. 

"Yes, now, you eat. I'll be in the kitchen looking at some slides under the microscope if you need me." With that Sherlock departed from the living room leaving John blinking at his change of luck since this very morning. 

"John?" He heard Sherlocks voice from the kitchen. 

"Hmm?" He responded. 

"What do you think of the violin?" Sherlock asked. 

"What?" John said confused. 

"You heard me." Sherlock said. 

John turned to see what the raven haired man was doing. He watched as he adjusted the microscope in order to get a better view of the slide beneath it. 

"It's fine, I suppose." John replied. 

Almost as if sensing his eyes on him Sherlock looked up. 

"Good." He replied before turning back to the microscope. 

The next morning John awoke in a bed for the first time in a year and a half. He remembered being afraid to sleep in it because of how dirty he himself was. But Sherlock had insisted, saying he could take one in the morning. 

When he came down stairs he found a change of fresh clothes and a razor. 

"There's body wash, shampoo, and shaving cream in the bathroom." John jumped and looked up to see sherlock was still vigorously starring at the slide under his microscope. 

"If you don't mind me asking, what are you doing?" John asked. 

"Working on a case. Bathrooms that way." He said pointing down the hall. 

After his shower John felt more refreshed than he had in months.

As he sat down and closed his eyes he heard a voice in front of him. 

He jumped once again as Sherlock had snuck up upon him once again. 

"Good god man, someone really needs to tie a bell on you." He said as he eyes the man curiously.

Sherlock smirked before starting. "You're a doctor. In fact your an army doctor." 

"Yes." John said clearing his throat and standing so he didn't have to crane his neck to look at Sherlock. 

"Any good?" Sherlock asked. 

"Very good." John replied more confidently.

"Seen a lot of injuries then. Violent deaths..." He drawled on. 

"Hmmm, yes." John answered. 

"Bit of trouble too, I bet." 

"Of coarse, yes." Sherlock was starting to confused him.  "Enough for a life time, far too much." 

"I'm a detective of sorts for the NSY. Well I say of sorts I mean consulting detective. Only one. I invented the job."

"Sherlock. What are you getting at?" John asked.

He gave the army doctor a sly smile. "Would you like to see more?" He asked. 

"Oh god yes." John answered. 

And that was how John found himself helping Sherlock solve crime and living in 221b with the man who had saved his life.   
Sherlock had let him know he knew what he had been planning that fateful night. 

But John didn't care, because the first time in forever, he had a friend. A good and honest friend. One who would listen to his troubles and who he could talk with. 

Until the world had so cruelly taken Sherlock away. 

And now John found himself sitting in that same dingey alley. A bottle of vodka and a vile of prescription pills in front of him. 

"Arms wide open, I stand alone, I'm no hero, and I'm not made of stone, right or wrong, I can hardly tell. I'm on the wrong side of heaven," he paused to throw a handful of the pills in his mouth. He took a long swig of the vodka before finishing. 

"And the righteous side of hell."

**Author's Note:**

> This one shot was inspired by the music video to Wrong Side of Heaven by Five Finger Death Punch. https://m.youtube.com/?#/watch?v=o_l4Ab5FRwM


End file.
